


Doors

by TheAdamantDaughter



Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Modern AU, Zutara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAdamantDaughter/pseuds/TheAdamantDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A miniature plot that exploded from the following prompt: </p><p>"Zuko has feelings for Katara but he doesn't think she feels the same way and he wants to protect their friendship. So he decides to move far away from her to get rid of his feelings. And then she's like wtf excuse u, Zuko? So she goes after him and confronts his run away ass."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy prequel (though it could stand on its own) to this angsty mini series, requested by zuzusexytiems on tumblr. Eat your heart out, my dears, for this will only make your pain so, so much worse.

Katara was sick. 

Really sick. The kind of sick that made her head throb and her body ache and her stupid stomach upchuck any and everything she forced down. The kind of sick that make her feel hot and cold all at the same time. The kind of sick that drove her **_insane._**  

Every sensation - the light through her window, the draft through the old apartment, the sounds echoing above and below her room - they all made her sick. Half of her wanted to die, but the other half rambled on about work and school and her other responsibilities, so she settled for violently yanking the blankets up to her chin. 

She nearly puked at the sudden movement, and then really puked when someone banged on her door. Bent over the bedside trashcan, Katara wiped her mouth, screaming at the door, _“Go away,_ Toph!”

But it wasn’t Toph, and normally, she’d be thrilled to see the golden eyes and raven hair in her doorway, but she was having absolutely none of it.  

Of course, he would show up looking fine as hell. Of course, he would see her in this state - all sweaty and sticky and probably stinky. And of fucking course, he’d say her name with that sexy, little rasp _-Katara-_ and she’d feel like vomiting. **Again.**

_Seven years she’d known him -since she was fifteen and he was an angry teenager- and he always seemed to stop her breath._

Katara glared at him, refusing to show even the slightest pleasure at his unexpected appearance, even though she was very, _very_ pleased. “What are you doing here, Zuko?” 

“Toph called me.” He explained, stepping lightly over the scattered pillows on her floor, “She-”

“Toph _called_ you? Why?” Katara grumbled, attempting to burrow deeper beneath her blankets, but he was sitting on the edge of her bed now and all but fighting her efforts. “Because I’m a raging bitch and **_she_** doesn’t want to deal with me?” 

He smirked, halfway caught between telling her the truth and lying. The truth seemed to win out, much to Katara’s chagrin, and he laughed, “More or less.” 

“ _Ugh-_ go away,” she growled, managing to nudge his ass with her knee. This should’ve prompted him to move, but instead, the infernal hothead just smiled at her. That infuriating, cocky smile that he reserved for situations in which he felt particularly triumphant. _God damn-_ she loved that smile. 

“I’ll go,” he said, raising one dark eyebrow, “but you’re coming with me.” 

**“I am not!** I can take care of myself, Zuko.”

He ignored her, finally leaving her bed with a satisfied clap of his hands. Zuko moved to her closet, rummaging through it like he had a list and only stopping when he found everything on that list. A back pack, some baggy pants, _her fucking panties_. He’d even gone so far as to select a matching bra. **  
**

She let out a mortified gasp, her eyes as wide as saucers when he turned around, holding some black, lacy thong in his hand, “No- **_no!_** Put my stuff down right now! What the hell do you think you’re doing, Zuko?” 

“Toph’s going out of town with Haru,” he shrugged, stuffing the panties and a few tees into the bag. “And you’re sick.”

“So… you and I are having some kind of kinky, slumber party?” 

“ _What?_ No!” He looked up quickly, then down at the backpack, just as a bright blush spread up from his neck over his cheeks. “I- _uhh-_ those are always on your floor… whenever I come over. I thought they might be your favorite pair… or- or something.”

Katara allowed herself a small smile, oddly touched that he’d paid such close attention to the mess that was her bedroom, but she quickly swallowed it. With a suffering look, she turned her head to the side, “You’d be correct, but I’m still not coming with you.” 

That smirk returned and Zuko crossed his arms, “You are, _Lovely_. I’ll carry you out of the building myself, if I have to.”

“I’ll scream the entire way,” she griped, unsuccessfully pretending to be immune to his new nickname for her. She rather liked it, thinking about it now. It was right up there with _moon peach_ and _my lady -_ two other names he’d given her. 

“Oh, you will not.” He seemed unperturbed by her irritation, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. Slow steps carried him to her, punctuating every word until one arm was beneath her knees and the other was around her rib cage. “I _will_ carry you all the way out to my car. I _will_ buckle you in like a helpless little child. And I _will_ spoon feed you soup all night if I have to.”

Katara protested weakly, wrapping her pajama covered arms around his shoulders. The lingering scent of his soap, mixed with something smoky, clung to him just beneath his jaw. She nuzzled his neck, breathing deeply. “I can take care of myself.” 

“Right…” he teased, shaking his head as they left her room, “That’s why you’re a wonderful shade of green, _hmm_?” 

“You’d be correct, again.”

“I usually am.”

She laughed softly, “Let’s pray you’re never wrong.” 

* * *

Zuko let her go.

She groaned quietly when he set her down and he adjusted the few pillows on his bed behind her, already missing her weight against him. It hardly mattered that he’d carried her down five flights of stairs and up his own porch- he _wanted_ to hold her all night. But he could only imagine her reaction to that type of announcement, so he settled for prattling on about other, less important things. 

“I can have some soup ready in ten minutes,” he explained, leaving her side to pull fresh blankets and a towel from the closet. “The bath is already full for you - lukewarm to help bring down your fever and I’ll set your clothes out on the bed for you and-”  

“Zuko,” Katara cut him off, grabbing his hand before he tugged her backpack open. Soft blue eyes met his and his heart fluttered, as it always did in moments like this. _“Thank you.”_

He nodded, squeezing her fingers once, “You know my door’s always open to you. You could’ve called me.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. You’re busy with work and I’m a puking mess,” she murmured, all of her earlier bravado now gone. “You _should’ve_ left me there.”

His hand found the center of her back and he helped her from the bed to the bathroom, “I’ll get a trashcan for you, too, okay? Really, Kat, it’s not a problem.” 

* * *

Zuko glanced up.

There she was, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with wet hair and that burgundy university shirt of his, looking absolutely radiant. He tried to ignore how the shirt hit her mid thigh, showing off long, tan legs, and swallowed the nagging question that she just might be wearing those lacy panties he’d grabbed. And _only those panties_. 

Katara shifted her damp curls over her shoulder, the motion lifting the shirt just enough to reveal a pair of boxers. His boxers. His favorite boxers... they looked so much better on her. 

She caught him staring and nervously toyed with the bottom of the shirt while she walked around the kitchen’s large island. “Sorry. Your clothes looked a bit more comfortable than mine.” 

“I...” he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stirred the soup. “I don’t mind.” 

“You’re sweet,” Katara came to his side, wavering for just moment when her skin flushed pale. 

He caught her shoulders, pulling her to his solid frame, “And you, Moon Peach, are burning up. _Still._ ” 

“I’m okay. My stomach feels a little better,” she murmured, pressing closer and embracing him, even when he nuzzled the top of her head. She smelled a lot like his shampoo, but also a lot like that clean scent of rain he'd associated with her skin, and Zuko decided this was a combination he liked. 

 ** _Loved_** , really, if that emotion didn't send jolts of electric fear through him. 

Either way, he could get used to this. _Real quick._ Her arms around his neck, his around her waist, dancing in the kitchen, singing in her ear... Kissing down her collarbones. He could have her on the table in seconds, the counter even sooner, his head between her thighs and his name on her lips. 

Zuko jerked away, plucking the rampant images from his mind with a throaty cough, "Right, good. So- anything else I can do for you? Besides some food?”

“Bowls might be nice,” Katara quipped, stretching up to snag two from the cupboard before sitting on a bar stool at the island. She placed one in front of herself and the other directly to her left, patting the metal seat for him to join her. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Chicken Noodle.” He spooned a portion for them both and sat beside her. He tried not to notice the way her knees swiveled to the left, barely brushing his leg, because she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, but she _certainly_ didn’t notice the way even the slightest touch sent his heart racing. At least, he hoped she didn’t. 

His uncle was practically in his ear, _Don’t do anything stupid, Zuko._

Of course, Uncle had been talking about his recent inheritance of multi-million dollar corporation, not _**this girl**_. Surely, it wasn’t stupid to... he brushed the back of his hand up her leg, hardly thinking before he did it. 

In hindsight, he probably should’ve thought about that a bit more, because now she was staring at him with surprised eyes.

But, she didn’t exactly stop him. Well, she stopped his hand before it reached her hip, but she didn’t push his hand away. Instead, she linked her fingers through his and smiled shyly, “This came out of a can, didn’t it?”

“What did?” He was so caught up in the fact that his hand was in her lap, that he barely heard her. 

“The soup, Zuko,” Katara said, tapping the bowl with her spoon, “You know, with all the money from your dad’s company, you could just hire a cook.” 

This made him frown. “No- I don’t need to be some extravagant bachelor... that wouldn’t make me happy.” 

“How would you know? You’re _**never**_ happy.”

“I’m happy right now.” He meant it too, and he gave her his little lopsided smile, wondering if she knew what he was saying. 

_He wanted her. He cared for her. He loved her._

Maybe she did know, because her eyes softened and she reached up to cup his cheek. _His **scarred** cheek_.  The gesture never lost its wonder, no matter how many times she repeated it over the years. He loved it every time, and every time, he leaned into her palm, letting his eyelids flutter closed.

But _this_ time, when Katara whispered _“Me too,”_ stroking his cheekbone gently, his eyes snapped open. 

The words left him stunned, shocked, with way too much curiosity and fulfillment and excitement in his golden irises. He didn’t really care which emotion dominated his expression - they all felt the same. They all screamed the same thing... did she mean _**he**_ made her happy? 

He liked to think so, and something in her gaze made him almost believe it. But there was that fear again, the crippling fear... she couldn’t be happy with him. She couldn’t possibly _love_ him, not the way he loved her. 

Zuko bit back against the anxiety, against the panic. Katara wouldn’t leave him. Katara wasn’t like everyone else he knew.

He could trust her with his heart. He could believe in her. He could lean on her and her on him and nothing could tear them apart. _ **Nothing.**_ Not after what they’d been through in the past. 

Really, he was the **only thing** that could break them, but he wouldn’t do that to her, to himself. _**Ever**_. 

And right then and there, he prayed he wasn’t wrong. 

* * *


	2. He Left

Zuko left.

It hurt too much - the beauty of her - so he left. He left her eyes, her smile, her laugh that lilted through the air like bird song captured on a breeze. He left her radiance, her warmth, her all encompassing peace that touched the world around her and tinted everything a calm, serene blue.

He didn't _want_ to leave, not in the sense that most people would assume. No- what he wanted was behind him- probably standing on his porch now, knocking on his door with a brilliant smile and a knowing look in her eye.

 **But it hurt too much**. So he left.

And now he was here- a hundred, two hundred, three hundred miles away. He counted them off on his fingers, holding up three in the air and then clutching them into a fist. He didn't even know where _here_ was. He just knew that is was far enough to forget… or try to forget.

At least here, the sky wouldn't remind him of her bright irises. The trees wouldn't taunt him with their swaying dance so similar to her walk. The wind… the wind wouldn't carry her voice or her giggle or the heart stopping way she murmured his name… at least, that's what he was telling himself.

He walked up to the door _-a dirty, rusty looking thing-_ and shoved a gold key into the lock. It wasn't much- just a one bedroom, one bathroom house- but it wasn't _there_. It wasn't near _her_. He stepped inside, dropping the one suitcase he'd brought on the hardwood floor, and tried to ignore how he'd never call this place home. Home was her. It was the way her lips lifted with a smile and her knuckles brushed his as they walked side by side.

Knuckles _brushing_ … never **_touching_**. Fingers never grasping, hands never holding. All the times he'd touched her, but he'd never really _touched_ her.

Not that he hadn't wanted to. Oh, how desperately he wanted to. All the nights he'd laid awake, stretched out atop too-hot sheets and imagining how she'd look lying next to him. Imagining how her skin would feel beneath his fingers and how her lips would feel against his and how her body would feel moving with his.

He snorted aloud, shaking his head as he sank down along a barren wall.

Even if they never made it _that_ far… just to know that she loved him, just to hear her say it… that would've been enough.

Any physical expression of his love for her could wait. Hell, he'd wait his entire life if he knew that she loved him back. As long as she loved him back. But she didn't. She couldn't. And maybe he should've asked, he should've been sure before he'd taken off, but somehow, he'd convinced himself that any attempt would be futile.

She didn't love him. She couldn't love him. She was happier without him.

 _That_ was his mantra.

He repeated it now, golden eyes sharp and careful as they scanned the empty living room. He pushed her aside, pushed the feelings down, planning a trip to downtown to buy a couch and mattress.

"Just the necessities. Just enough to get by," he muttered to the stale air, tracing a shape into a dusty wall. Just enough to move on, to forget.

_She didn't love him. She couldn't love him. She was happier without him._

* * *

Katara rapped on the door _-a red, fancy looking thing-_ and it rattled slightly in the door frame as it always did. She'd been here a thousand times, a thousand memories held together by the stained wood of the porch. In each grain, she could trace a new day, a new secret or side or smile to him that she hadn't yet seen.

 _That lopsided grin of hi_ s- that was her favorite.

Her toe traced the whorl in the wood just to the left of her feet. The whorl she'd pointed out that day, saying it looked like a dog's asshole… the whorl that made this silly, endearing smile spread across his face. His eyes had lit up, the gold so bright and happy, and they danced playfully above his full, pink lips.

It was an image she'd ingrained in her mind, saving it away for dreary, rainy days such as this.

She couldn't quite place why it felt so _dreary,_ though. The rain was something she loved. It brought new beginnings, she told him, a statement that wiped any smirk from his face. He would gripe, growl, grimace- anything to look as miserable as possible when she made him stand with her in it.

_Just because you like the rain, doesn't mean you have to get soaked._

She counted the number of times she'd heard that in the last month, holding up eight fingers before curling both hands into fists and pounding on his door again.

"Are you going to let me in or what?" she called, huffing loudly, "I **_will_** make you stand out on the lawn with me for this."

No answer. She tried the knob.

The door opened easily, exposing a quiet living room full of what he called _rugged_ furniture and decor. It was dark, as was the rest of the home, and she switched on lights, making her way back to the kitchen.

Another hundred memories had been made here- laughs and silly dances and a billion empty calories. Every moment spoke of their relationship- a deep, caring friendship that always felt like more. Lingering looks, shy glances, the way his hand would brush the small of her back…

It gave her goosebumps to remember those caresses now.

All the times she'd seen the words on the tip of his tongue _-I love you-_ and all the times they'd never been uttered. It stung, for a moment, to think of the chances he'd never taken. It hurt all the worse to look about the kitchen and think of all the times **_she_** should've said something.

_I love you, Zuko._

With a sigh, the thoughts evaporated, leaving her alone to peruse the counter tops. Her eyes, calm and watchful, spotted a thin slip of paper just beside the sink.

She imagined, surrounded by the joy and the happiness of this room _-a room she loved as much as him-_ that such a carefully folded letter would contain similarly minded thoughts. Perhaps words that told of a quick trip to the grocery for her favorite tea or words that whispered of a quiet evening on the back patio, if she just slipped outside.

She never imagined how heartbreaking this letter could be, how black it would make the kitchen's white walls seem.

_I love you. I'm sorry._

All too quickly it hit her. **He'd left her.** And now she sank to the floor, inhaling deeply and then shattering when she realized his smell lingered about her. It clung to the curtains, the wallpaper, the university shirt draped over her shoulders. _His shirt._ She wanted to rip it from her skin now.

He left her. He didn't want her. He was better off without her.

 _That_ was her mantra.

Her fingers crumpled the paper as the world itself seemed to fall down. Her breath ragged, her heart aching- he'd left her. All the days, all the minutes, all the seconds. They didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that he made her happy or that she'd seen him smile like no one else. It didn't matter that she was his best friend and he was her one and only.

All that mattered was that he'd left her. He didn't want her. He was better of without her.

She glared at the letter, reading and rereading it as if that would change it's verbiage or erase his script or **erase** **him.**

 _"Love_ ," she whispered, "It might as well be _loved."_


	3. He Confessed

Zuko stumbled up the street, already drunk but stubbornly downing the last of some nasty beer that he refused to toss. Anything to feel numb, but fuck, he thought he'd feel numb six beers ago. But all he felt was this nagging irritation that he'd done something terrible wrong.

It ate at him, tugging at his sanity and threatening to spill hot tears as he followed the now familiar sidewalk home. No- _not home-_ to his house. It would never be home, no matter how many times he locked and unlocked the rickety door. It would never be home.

 _It would never hold_ _**her.** _

He shoved the thought away, smashing the now empty glass bottle across the cement as he paced along. Aggravated. Angry. _**Alone**_ _._

Sure, the bars held a variety of potential interests. If he were any other man, those interests could've easily been one night stands, but he wasn't any other man. He was **Zuko** and he loved _her_ and all he saw was _her._

In everything.

In the blue of the sky. In the freedom of the wind. In the vibrancy of the late spring peonies. _Those fucking peonies._ They seemed to be everywhere- on his walk to work, in the flowerbeds outside his office building, even his own fucking garden.

He'd ripped them out his first night here. Trashing through the yard, wasted and reckless, he tore the flowers up by the roots and threw them across the lawn. It felt good _-if only for a second-_ because at the end of his rampage, he was left with gaping holes in the ground that matched the gaping hole in his chest.

And now, every morning when he slammed that stupid, shitty door behind him, the ripped up peonies were a stark reminded of how he'd ripped up his own heart.

 _ **Her heart**_ , too, if he knew her as well as he thought he did.

And he did know her. He knew, whether she loved him or not, that she was feeling the same agonizing pain as him. He knew, whether she cared for him or not, that she was trying to pick up the pieces that he'd strewn all of the place. Just like those peonies.

 _You're a fool,_ Uncle said over the phone. _You're a damn fool._

Zuko knew he was right. He **was** a fool. But it was day ten now, day ten without her, and he was still ignoring the fact that no amount of whiskey or beer or both could wash his mind of those blue eyes.

_Those blue eyes._

He'd started piecing images of her together, formed from the features of strangers. The shape of her nose, the pink of her lips, that goddamn sway of her hips… He wasn't even looking for her and he found her. Blue eyes made his chest ache and any brunette sent his mind spinning, seeking, savoring the moments he'd had with her. Moments he'd brushed a strand from her cheek, followed by the regret that he hadn't twisted those long, brown curls around his fingers and brought her lips to his.

He curled his fingers into fists now, ready to hit something if the image of her didn't fade. With a curse under his breath, he trudged up the front steps of his porch, fiddling with the lock when a quiet _'Zuko'_ pulled his eyes to the left.

 _And there_ _**she** _ _was._

* * *

 _And there_ _**he** _ _was._

Standing stone cold still, frozen like a statue. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and framed by dark locks of tousled hair that fell so perfectly into his face. Even his clothing, disheveled as it was, hung off him in that irritatingly sexy way.

He was _impossibly_ endearing and _impossibly_ infuriating all at once.

And now it was time to choose, time to decide which emotion raced through her veins quicker, stronger, longer. She'd come here with all the intentions of murmuring his name and whispering her affirmations, but staring at him now, all she could see was red. _**Burning red.**_

Like the university shirt she still had. Like the blanket he left in her room. Like the flush on his cheeks after a brisk run and the blush that always spread down his chest. _Red._ Everything around him was red.

"Fuck you," she spat, boring into him with a look so ferocious he took a step back. "Fuck you, Zuko!"

"Katara- I-" he stammered, rubbing his face blearily even as she pressed forward.

She was mere inches from him now, catching him by surprise when his hand fell from his eyes. Those goddamn golden eyes, so ridiculously beautiful, so capable of melting her fury and pulling her back in. _Not today_. Not when she was hurt beyond belief, barely surviving, much less holding it the fuck together. She clung to her fury today.

 _"Katara?_ _ **Katara?!**_ You take off, to God knows where, and all you manage is my fucking name?"

His lips fell agape- even in his drunk stupor, Zuko seemed capable of catching on to just how angry she was. It'd only been one other time that he'd seen her like this, practically spitting and frothing and fuming at the mouth. And that one other time had been all she needed to feel confident that he'd never leave her.

_How foolish she had been._

What was it Zuko used to say? Just after she'd met him, he had this line -like a mantra of sorts… Oh right, **_love is weakness_** **.**

Maybe he should've stuck to his own beliefs. Maybe he never should've talked to her and fallen for her and actually given voice to his feelings because maybe they wouldn't be in this mess. He'd still be _home_ and she'd still be strong, but God damn, _did he make her weak_.

Those words _-I love you-_ made her weak.

She could see them on his tongue now, felt them in the air between them. They hovered and hung, weighing them down, weighing the world down. Then, like a thunderstorm, the tension was released with all the brilliance of lightning.

Zuko closed the space between them, his fingers tentatively grazing her cheek as her pulled her against his chest. "Katara, I love you."

 _I_ _love you. I love you. I love you._

It washed over her. The truth. The relief. All these repressed feelings and torn heartstrings suddenly filling her chest like the scent of stale alcohol suddenly filled her mouth.

His lips were like fire, molding so seamlessly yet so carelessly with hers. His hands, strong and firm and exactly what she thought she wanted, kept her flush with his body. One twisted into her hair, the other was splayed across the small of her back. Her movements mirrored his- touching and gripping and memorizing every bit of him. She savored his breath, savored the taste of his tongue, savored the feel of him.

She savored it, because she knew, as they stood there breathless and panting and nearly begging for more, that there would never _**be**_ more.

He broke the embrace, kissing her nose and whispering another _I love you_ like words alone could rebuild bridges and repair all the damage. If it wasn't so dark, if he could see her eyes plainly, he would see how little reprieve the words brought.

"A letter." It wasn't a question anymore. She'd left behind the realm of questions long ago. She no longer cared for the answers. "A letter is how you tell me you love me. And a letter is how you leave me."

"Kat… I- I was afraid, but I love you. I do."

His hand left her jaw, skimming delicately down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps. She wrenched away.

"But you left me. You were too afraid to tell me to my face so you left me." Her voice rose a octave, pain seeping in through all the cracks of her firm visage. "You betrayed me, Zuko."

Alarm marred his features, "No- Kat, no! I was trying to protect you."

"And look what you've done! You **_broke_** my heart!"

"I didn't mean to!"

Zuko stepped towards her, arms outstretched like he could somehow lift the burden from her chest, but she moved back. Back off of the porch where dirt and peonies were thrown, back to the street where her car waited, _back out of his life just like he wanted._

"It's too late," she admitted, just loudly enough for him to hear. "It's too little, too late."


	4. He Broke

Zuko's world shattered slowly.

What he always thought would happen in an instant, when he imagined this very moment -the moment he said _I love you_ and she walked away- happened in pieces. The scuffle of her shoes from the porch. The broken sob in her chest. The whispered words, _it's too little too late_ , followed by the slam of her car door.

All these pieces… pieces of her, pieces of him… tore through his heart like shrapnel.

In his dreams, in his nightmares really, she didn't love him. She never did. Now he knew that wasn't the truth. **She'd loved him along** , as fiercely as he loved her, but he ruined it. He left her and he ruined it.

Like every other _good_ thing that ever happened to him.

 ** _"Fuck!_** " He ran a hand down his face, fighting the sting of tears, when her car roared to life. " _No!_ No- fuck, Katara!"

He was over the porch railing and in the street faster than he thought possible, certainly faster than he should've been given how much alcohol surged through his veins, but he'd never felt so sober in his life. He'd never felt so _afraid_ in his life.

Not when his father shoved his face in hot coals. Not when he cut any and all ties with his family. Not even when he took a bullet to the chest for this blue-eyed girl.

_This blue-eyed girl that was leaving him. **Killing him.**_

His palms slammed the Mustang's hood, the same Mustang he'd bought her two years ago for her twenty-first birthday. He'd come into his piece-of-shit-dad's business empire and her clunker had finally kicked the bucket. His first and only splurge was this very car - this sleek, black thing she eyed every time they drove past the dealerships along the highway.

If his chest didn't ache so badly, Zuko would've laughed at the irony of it all. At how pissed off she was when he pulled the car up outside her apartment, tires screeching like an asshole, and how she became even more enraged when he tossed her the keys saying, _It's yours._ At how she'd griped and complained, only to giggle like an idiot when she climbed in the seat.

He'd probably never see her smile like that again.

She blared the horn at him now, ripping him from his thoughts to the present, and he shouted over of the clamor, "Katara, please!"

He half expected her to back up, pull away, or maybe even run him down, but she surprised him. The door was thrown open, every inch of her slender frame shaking with rage and pain as she clambered out, "Please what? What could you possible say, Zuko?"

"I- I- Katara, I can't live without you." He stammered, swiping angrily at his hair as it fell into his eyes. Her own eyes, so blue and bright and hurt, stared him down with a vehemence he'd never seen. "I'm alive, yeah, but I'm not living."

She squinted at him, her hands braced on the top of the door. Her knuckles were nearly white from the strength of her grip. "Maybe you should've thought about that."

"I know- I know. Fuck… Katara, _I'm_ ** _so_ **_sorry_." Zuko took a few daring steps towards her, coming around the side of the car and feeling the heat of her stare grow as he came closer. She didn't move. Though her gaze hardened and her jaw set when he placed his fingers over hers. "I'm sorry. Please- just stay. We can talk about this. We can work through it."

A storm exploded within her, building in the deep color of her irises, in the firm line of her lips.

" **No!** No, Zuko I don't want to!" She wrenched her hands from his and ducked back into the Mustang. He was ready to reach for her, physically stop her if he had to, but she whirled around before he could so much as put a hand on her back.

"Wha-?" Zuko unwadded the bundle shoved into his arms- a red blanket, a few sweatshirts, a random pair of boxers. It was everything he'd given her over the years, everything she'd stolen from his closet, tossed in his face like it was all nothing. "Katara, come on."

"Don't tell me to _come on_. **Don't**. You fucking started this." She shook her head, ripping the maroon shirt _-another night, another memory-_ off her body and clutching it in her hands. Goosebumps rose over her skin, either from the raging emotions or the chilly air, but she paid them no mind. She just stood there, quietly trembling in her bra and jeans, as tears built on her lashes, "I want you to _forget you._ "

It was a punch to the gut - the realization that he was losing her - and the pain imploded in his belly when Katara threw the shirt at him, snapping, "I don't want _anything_ of yours. I don't want anything that ties me to you."

"So what?" He shouted, dumping the clothing in the street. His fingers curled around the shirt though, like he was symbolically stating that he wouldn't let the memory go. He wouldn't let _her_ go. "You're just going to cut me out of your life?!"

"I don't want you **in** my life!" She screamed back, just as violently, just as heated and burned and crazed as him. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, tears he wanted to wipe away like he had every other time they appeared, but she was backing away from him. "I thought I was safe with you! I thought I could trust you, but look at us now! You've done more damage than you'll ever realize."

"Do you think I'm not hurting too? **I'm hurting, Katara!** I'm fucking hurting!"

"You left _me!_ Remember?!" She lashed out, jabbing a finger at his chest as if to push him back, to create more distance between him and her heart. "Or do you have some hero complex that's deluded you into thinking this was for the best?"

"I thought it was! I thought you didn't - _wouldn't_ love me back and I- I-" Zuko swallowed, choking on the words as they fell from his lips.

"And you destroyed a friendship to save your pride."

"It's _not_ like that," he murmured, reaching out to her.

She sat down in the car, her face sinking to her hands. " _It is."_

"Katara, please don't walk away. I don't know if I'll be okay without you." Finally, his own tears slipped down his face, tracing hot streaks to his chin. He couldn't be bothered to smear them away. He couldn't even be bothered to  _move_ for fear he'd break if he so much as flinched.

He should've known though, from the years he'd spent under his father, that no movement or touch could ever break him. It was words. _Always the words._

"Don't worry, Zuko." She was practically sneering at him now, and he knew- he knew he wouldn't be okay. "Even the worst wounds scar over eventually."

And with that, she slammed the car door shut.


	5. A Closed Door

Katara was a liar.

Even if she didn’t want to admit to it, she knew it was true.

Six months had passed since Zu- _No_ , she wouldn’t think about him.

Six months had passed since she’d lost her favorite burgundy uni shirt. It was rather unfortunate, because she quite liked that shirt. Sokka would say that she _**loved**_ that shirt, but she adamantly stated that she liked it. _Only liked it._

Unfortunately, her supposed lack of love didn’t stop her mind from conjuring a thousand reasons why she may have possibly loved it. It smelled nice and it was warm, like a cozy blanket and a fire were on a cold day. It was soft. It was comfortable. It was a little frayed around the edges, which she appreciated because it meant she didn’t have to be perfect either.  It made her feel loved or safe or whatever that feeling was that she tried so hard to ignore.

All of that didn’t matter anymore. The shirt was gone and there were plenty more out there. Green shirts and blue shirts and brown shirts and yellow shirts. Of course, she never found that perfect red shirt again, but Katara had managed to convince herself that _that_ was just fine.

 _ **She was fine.**_ She was lying, but she was fine.

Katara had responsibilities. She was in medical school. She was working. And most importantly, she was a member of an independent health study under the sponsorship of Arrow Dynamics. That, at least, was something to be excited about, not to mention, she’d caught the eye of the young owner.

He wasn’t so bad. He was handsome and playful - a welcome break from the many, _many_ assholes she’d gone through since losing that shirt. He smiled a lot, talked over her other times, but she felt safe with him. She felt like she wouldn’t get hurt. She felt _**fine.**_

She slapped the mattress beside her, expecting to feel his lean form, but the bed was empty. Her eyes snapped open, _“Shit! Aang?!”_

Katara honed in on the clock to her left. **7:32 AM** blinked back at her, faintly glowing in the early morning light that leaked through the bamboo window shades. She hated those shades. She much preferred the dark, sleek wood shades that Zu- _Fuck. No._

She was late. She was _**fine**_ and she was late and she had responsibilities.

 

* * *

 

 

Katara trailed Aang into the sleek lobby, apologizing for the thousandth time for nearly making them late.

He only smiled, in that genuinely kind and innocent way he had, brushing a lock of her hair back up into her bun as they stepped into the elevator, “It’s not a problem, Tara. Besides, you look pretty great for someone who got dressed in the car.”  

“Thanks,” she murmured, straightening the front of her fitted red dress _again_. She hardly had time to fret over her appearance though, as the doors opened onto the twenty-fifth floor and her reflection in the cool metal disappeared.

Aang held out his hand, prompting her to follow him, “Breathe, Sweetie. You’ve done great during all of our practice - we’ll get the investment we need.”

She obliged, reluctantly plastering on half a smile, and followed him with a huff.

He didn’t know her well enough to know the long sigh for what is was _-irritation._ _Fortunately for her..._ she mused, because if he did, he’d turn around and ask what was all the matter with her on such a lovely day. And that would lead her to make up some excuse when really, his little nicknames tormented her.

It was a pathetic attempt, in her most humble opinion, to _smooth her edges_ , and she would not be smoothed over.

She was Katara. She was Kat. She was _moon peach_ and _my lady_ and _darling_ and _dearest._ She was fiery and feisty and playful and teasing. But she was never sweet.

Her eyes fell to the floor as she followed Aang into the conference room, a ragged shot of pain making its way through her chest. Maybe she was better off just playing the part of _sweet._.. it helped hide the hole left in her heart where all those other names used to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Zuko felt like he was made of stone.

While the other attendees  - three sharp looking businessmen and one black clad woman - were entirely focused on the vibrant man waltzing into the room, his focus was solely on the woman behind him.

_**It was her.** _

A brilliantly red dress hugged the body he once hugged. Delicate tendrils of loose hair brushed cheeks that he once brushed. Straight, pearly white teeth chewed the lips that he once kissed, lips that he could’ve spent his life kissing. Every morning, every night, every moment for the rest of his life.

_But he’d fucked that up, hadn’t he?_

He’d never have her. He’d never hold her. He’d never _be hers_. It was only by pure coincidence that he was now in the same room as her... a position that’d likely never occur again. She was here, but she would vanish. She’d be gone. _Again_. It would be his own doing. _ **Again.**_

That hit him like wall, ripping open old wounds, shattering bones, tearing flesh.

Up until that moment, Zuko hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath. Except now, when he tried to breathe, he realized he was suffocating. He was drowning in the memories, burning up in the assault of seconds and minutes and hours he’d spent watching her, wanting her, _loving_ her.

He still loved her.

And he wanted her to look up, but meeting her gaze would mean facing the harsh reality that those blue eyes would never light up with the sound of his name... so he looked down.

 

* * *

 

 

Katara picked her eyes up from the floor, rolling them once more to further brush off whatever annoyance lingered at Aang. This was his investment meeting, his business proposal - she would play her part and do her job. She wouldn’t screw it up for him.

However, the universe seemed intent on screwing her, for her cursory glance about the room all but stopped her heart.

_**It was him.** _

Zuko… was here....sitting right there, staring down at the table. She didn’t miss the way he shifted in his chair, barely noticeable to the others, but then again, they didn’t know him like she did. He straightened his notepad on the table, his hands shaking and gaze studiously turned down. Then his fingers spread out, stretching widely, and golden eyes flicked up to hers.

She could feel the heat, the fire in them.

He drummed the table once, then clenched his fists, and his hands disappeared beneath the table. Their absence wasn’t enough to erase the memories though - his fingers in her hair, palm on her back, knuckles brushing up her thigh. Every where they had touched seemed to ignite.

An eternity could’ve passed, in the moment she stood there. She wouldn’t have noticed. She was going up in flames from the inside out, vaguely aware of each attendee giving a brief introduction... but her eyes never left him. When he stood to speak, the soft grate of his voice clashing with the hard syllables of his name, _‘Zuko,’_ shivers ran down her spine.

Six months and she _still_ wasn’t free of him. Six months of dates and drinks and she couldn’t stop looking at him. She couldn’t stop the fluttering in her stomach and the pang in her chest and the violent screaming in her head that said _‘what if.’_  

What if **_what_** , though? He ruined it- not her. What if she’d forgiven him? What if she’d admitted how much she loved him back? What if she’d stayed with him? Talked with him? Kept kissing him?

_What if he still loved her?_

“Katara?” Aang gripped her wrist and she jumped. His gaze flicked back and forth between her and Zuko, a realization dawning in the grey orbs. It looked quite a lot like jealousy, especially when he squinted at her, “Are you going to introduce yourself?”  

“Sorry,” she said, swallowing and offering those gathered her most polished smile. Katara refused even a glance to her right, but she knew his eyes were on her. _They’d never leave her_. “For a moment there, I thought I forgot the flash drive.”

As if to drive her excuse home, Katara fumbled through her discarded bag, pulling the silver drive out and dangling it for the group. The men chuckled lightly, all except Zuko that is, while the woman clad in black yawned sarcastically. At least the noticeable tension had left the air.

Katara plugged in the USB, readying the available laptop and projector, and turned back to the audience, “Alright, thank you for meeting with us. I’m Katara. You’ve already met my business partner, Aang, the founder of Arrow Dynamics, but let me tell you more about the company…”

 

* * *

 

 

_She was beautiful… Her lips, her eyes, **her**._ That was all Zuko saw as she spoke.

He was staring, but it wasn’t in some kind of lustful way, in that _he-had-to-have-her_ way. He’d never viewed Katara like that. Her beauty was much deeper. It radiated in her confidence, her intelligence. She was poised and eloquent, never fumbling over her words, hitting every point, and taking every question in stride. And like all the other moments he’d spent looking at her, her smile was warm and her eyes held the ocean.

If he could have her in _any_ way, Zuko’s first wish would be to have her as his friend again. To have her on his couch with Frozen playing, her legs thrown over his lap and her lips moving with the songs. In his kitchen with full control over his Pandora stations, her hips swaying to whatever came on and her hands coaxing him to move with her. In his yard, his car, his _**arms.**_

 _God, he wanted to hold her again._ He wanted to laugh with her and comfort her, to wrap a blanket around her shoulders or offer her a pair of sweats. At the very least… he just wanted to see her in his university shirt again.

The image of her, clutching that shirt with goosebumps rising across her sternum, was still branded into the back of his eyelids. He’d never be free of it.

He still had that shirt. He kept it in his closet, looked at it hanging there every morning. It stood as a reminder not to screw up something so perfect ever again, to be open and honest and love freely. As if that opportunity would ever come around twice - there hadn’t been anyone in his life since she left and Zuko wasn’t even sure he wanted anyone else.

It seemed she did though. He could tell in the way Aang looked at her, like she was the best thing he’d ever seen, that _something_ was going on between them. Whether the man was just her rebound or a serious relationship… Zuko decided it didn’t matter. Katara had clearly moved on.

Or had she?

Those bright blue eyes flicked to his every now and again, an unidentifiable emotion dancing in them. _Was it longing? Or hurt?_ He didn’t want to name it because naming it would mean hoping that she still thought of him and hoping would mean he could get hurt again.

Zuko couldn’t help himself though. He couldn’t help the swelling in his chest when the meeting wrapped up, Aang offered to take questions, and Katara excused herself. She didn’t so much as peek his way, but he still couldn’t help himself.

He slid out of his seat, ignoring the few rude glances from the other attendees, and darted through the door before it closed, “Wait, Katara-”

 

* * *

 

 

Katara halted, caught midstep as all the tension returned to her shoulders. She already felt a headache forming at the base of her skull and talking to _**him**_ was the last thing she wanted to do right now… Because talking to him would mean admitting she still thought of him and admitting she still thought of him would mean admitting she loved him.

_What a foolish girl she still was._

He didn’t need to know that though, so she turned on her heel, giving him her darkest glare, _“What?_ Do you suddenly have a say in when I use the restroom?”

“No. I wanted to- Well, I don’t know, honestly.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her face not softening in the slightest, even when Zuko ran a hand through his hair. Katara vaguely recalled the way those dark strands felt, silky and thick, twisted around her own fingers as his breath filled her mouth… she shoved the memory aside. “Why are you here?”

“The proposal came across my desk and I’m seeking investment opportunities. If- if I’d known you were working on it, I-”

“No, Zuko, why are you _ **here?**_ I thought you moved away... Something about protecting me?”

 _And what a swell job he was doing of that now…_ Katara rubbed her chest, her fingertips tracing the lancing agony that stabbed her lungs.

“My headquarters are here… it was a bit impractical to manage Inferno Industries from three hundreds miles away.”

She snapped, poison lacing her tone, “It’s a bit impractical to move just because you like someone.”

“Kat, I don’t _like_ you.”

“Don’t call me that!” He looked visibly shaken at her outburst, his brow quivering with a hundred questions that she would refuse to answer if he gave voice to them. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you want something, Zuko?” Katara implored. She practically snarled when her heart screamed out, filling her head with voices that begged him to say he wanted her. He’d done too much for her to ever allow _that._ He’d burned too many bridges. He’d killed that trusting part of her, the part reserved for him, the part that loved him, wanted him, needed him. _**He’d killed her.**_

But he was unaware of the turmoil raging in her mind. Or maybe he did notice, because that broken concern, that soft look in his eyes and tender smile she’d seen from him a thousand times over, grew on his face until she was forced to look away.

Katara tried to block him out, tried to pretend she was somewhere else, when he shoved a piece of paper into her line of sight. _A letter,_ one that looked like it’d been folded and unfolded a million times.

“I-I want you to have this,” He murmured, the gold in his eyes melting like she’d just warmed his soul by simply glancing up again. “Will you read it?”

Katara hesitated, but then shakily reached for the letter. Her entire body was shaking, she realized, delicately holding the letter between tan fingers.

“You don’t owe me anything…” Zuko shoved his hands in his pockets, “I just- I can’t keep holding on to it and wondering _what if_.”

_**What if.** _

Katara nearly laughed at the words, at how ridiculously they matched her exact thoughts during the meeting. Her thoughts during the day, the week, the _past six months._

“How long have you had this?”

“Since you drove away.” The tenderness on his face hardened, like he was building up a wall that only she had a chance at bringing down, and Katara wondered if he was as hurt as she.

But that was all too bad- he’d done it to himself.

Zuko turned away, headed down the hall for the elevator and she threw up her own defenses. She would not allow even the slightest crack in her stern visage. Katara crossed her arms, the letter crumpling against her side, and reminded herself of all the other colored shirts out there. She didn’t need red. She didn’t want red. _She couldn’t trust red._

Already, Katara felt the creeping tears, the heat in her face, the thundering in her blood. She tried to ignore the rising emotions, but the paper in her hand scratched uncomfortably across her bare inner arm. She gave in.

Unfolding it carefully, the worn edges hardly rasping as they pulled apart, her eyes were met with neat lines and perfect penmanship that matched the Zuko she knew so well it made her heart ache.

 ~~Moon Peach~~  
~~Lovely~~  
Kat,  
_I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough, but **I’m sorry.** If I were a better man, a stronger man, I would’ve stayed. I would’ve faced you and told you that I love the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. I love the way you rant. I love the pink tint to your cheeks when I tease you. I love the way you smile at me, dance with me, talk to me… **I love you**. If I were a better man, I would’ve stayed. I would’ve loved you for a lifetime. I would’ve married you. But I’m weak and I’m broken. I ruined my chance with you… I know that. All I want for you now is a happy life. Find that.  
_ _Zuko_

“Hey!” She started at the voice behind her, swiping away the few stray tears on her lashes and turning to find Aang at her shoulder. “You left in a rush.”

“Sorry,” Katara grimaced, breathing in deeply through her nose to calm the pulse in her neck. It hardly did any good. She could _feel_ the wild beat against her ribcage and she wanted to claw it out.

Aang smiled, placing a hand on her lower back like he wanted to usher her back to the room full of investors, “You did great in there. Everyone is really excited about the project-”

“I- _Aang!_ ” She shook head, freezing in the middle of the hall.

His grin fell away, as did his hand and Katara shifted under his scrutiny. “That was him, wasn’t it? The guy you dated before me?”

“We never _dated._ ”  

“Does that matter? You don’t forget people like that, Katara, no matter how badly you want to.”

“You know I like you. I’m safe with you.” Katara shrugged, peering in the direction Zuko had gone. She could see him at the very end, his back to her while he adjusted his grey suit jacket. Employees poured from the open elevator. “I don’t have to be afraid of getting hurt.”

“You’re not happy though. You’re not alive and free and in love like you are with him.”

She rolled her eyes, finding Aang’s own grey irises locked on her, “Does that matter?”

He nodded slowly, a hint of sadness lingering but he hid it well, “You have to decide which one you want… which one matters more to you. Do you want to be happy? Or do you want to be safe?”

Katara frowned, looking back in the direction of the elevator as Zuko stepped in. Then her feet moved, seemingly of their own accord, and soon her mouth was forming his name as she darted towards the closing doors, “Zuko- stop.”

 

* * *

 

 

His palm, quick as lightning, halted the doors. Zuko fought the hope leaking into his voice, “You read it? Already?”

Katara nodded, stepping into the elevator with him. The doors slid shut, the air quickly thickening as the long descent to the lobby began. He licked his lips, considering his words carefully, but she beat him to it.

“A letter, Zuko,” she stated, repeating the accusation on his porch all those nights ago. “A letter is how you tell me you love me and a letter is how you left me. And- and another one… Zuko, are you ever going to say it to my face?”

“I did.”

“Are you fucking with me right now? You were blatantly drunk.”

He sighed, wanting to reach for her, to pull her close. “I’m stone cold sober right now, Katara, and I love you. I’m not going anywhere this time.”  

“How do I _**know**_? You loved me before and you ran away… what's stopping you now?” Katara met his golden eyes, her troubled pout reflected in them. “I want to love you… but how many more letters will I find in the kitchen? How many more empty homes? How many more nightmares about red shirts and ripped up peonies?”

Zuko tapped the paper in her hands, “That’s the last letter. I promise… unless you want more. I’ll give you more. I’ll write one every day that describes a hundred things I love about you… if that’s what will make you happy, that’s what I will do.”

She looked away, like she was afraid of the wounds his earnest gaze could inflict.

“Katara, I don’t deserve a second chance. You were right - I caused more damage than I can even comprehend.” Zuko pursed his lips, deciding then and there to lay it all out. _No regrets, right? Wasn’t Jet always blathering on about taking what you wanted?_ He found his courage, reaching up to brush her cheek, “But I **want** a second chance. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

“Do you love me right now?”

“I do. I never stopped.”

She bit her lip, then took his hand from where it dangled at his side, tracing over the backs of his knuckles. “Did you _try_ to stop?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’ve already made that mistake. I’ll never repeat it.” Zuko shook his head, flipping his hand so that their fingers linked tightly. He didn’t want to let go, but something in her expression - be it uncertainty or skepticism - told him he didn’t have a choice.

Katara squeezed once, then pulled her hand away, “You know that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you-”

“Fool me twice… shame on me,” Zuko’s brow darkened, a thick lump bulging in his throat that he forced down with a gulp, “Katara, I-”

”I don’t want anymore letters.” 

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding wide to reveal the floor of the lobby, where dozens of patrons milled about, unaware of the tense exchange, unaware that his heart was blowing into a thousand pieces. 

Katara stepped out, backing away with her hands spread protectively, as if to defend herself from the onslaught of shrapnel. “Goodbye, Zuko.”

“Where are- _no!_ ” He tried to follow to her, to stop her, but the doors closed in his face. Zuko was left standing there, staring through blurry tears at his reflection in the cold metal, her name on his lips. _“Katara.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading... and no, I am not even sorry for breaking all of your hearts.


End file.
